


Under The Angel's Wings

by blingblingis



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 11:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12456736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blingblingis/pseuds/blingblingis
Summary: A hurt/comfort request from my tumblr





	Under The Angel's Wings

**Author's Note:**

> kind of an emergency request since I’m feeling real low tonight, but with mercy/widowmaker (separate) with a usually tough fem s/o who was the leader of a squad that were like family. But they return from a mission as the lone survivor, and start heading down a self destructive road. Short drabbles of the ladies seeing them hit rock bottom (like getting into a fight when someone blames them/or curled up in bed sobbing), lots of hurt comfort.
> 
> You can find my tumblr[here!](https://moreheroimagines.tumblr.com/) Requests are almost always open!

She found you in the worst part of the city. In an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the water. The entire place looked like it could come down at any moment and yet she could hear voices shouting inside. She already knew full well just what this place was.

When she walked through the open and unguarded door she saw a ring of people with two other people fighting in the center. That alone made her heart drop into her stomach but she pressed on, pushing through the crowd of people that all seemed to ignore her in favor of watching the fight unfold.

Her blood froze when she saw what exactly was happening. You were fighting. And you were losing. The fact that you were fighting in the first place made her angry, but that you were losing to a bunch of untrained muscle-heads made her livid. Not because you weren’t winning. But because you had to have been trying to lose. There was no way someone like you, with excellent military training would lose to some random Fight Club wannabe. You were doing this on purpose. You were punishing yourself.

She swallowed her anger for now, watching with a growing sadness as you took hit after hit, not even bothering to fight back now. With one final punch that sounded like it might have broken something you slumped to the floor, not unconscious but with no more will to fight. The crowd cheered and the victor held his hands up in triumph. Angela glared at him. Where was the glory in beating someone who wanted to be beaten?

She swept forward and pulled you up into her arms as much as she could with you being nearly dead weight at this point. “We’ll talk when we get home.” she promised, trying to keep the rage out of her voice. You nodded meekly and with one last glance at the pool of your blood on the cold cement floor she led you out.

Apparently “talk” meant “give you the silent treatment for half an hour and then scream at you.” Not that it wasn’t everything you had expected. The 30 minutes of silence had been when she was cleaning you up, stitching a nasty cut over your brow when she could have just used her staff. You knew she was trying to teach you a lesson. The purse of her lips and the furrow of her brow said she was also doing it because she was angry.

And when she screamed at you you knew she was angry. But there was something more. Her voice was broken, choked with tears she refused to let fall. You sat there and let her scream at you, knowing you deserved every bit of it. You were a worthless failure, good for nothing except getting those you were supposed to protect, killed. Suddenly Angela stopped talking. Mid-sentence if you remember correctly.

You were about to ask her why when something splashed onto your hand. You looked at it quizzically and brought your hand up to your face. You were crying? You hadn’t cried since the night your team died. What good did tears do for the dead? The only way you could make it up to them was to be better, stronger, not some weakling who cried herself to sleep at night.

“Hey, listen to me. I’ve seen people die on the battlefield. I’ve had patients I know I could have saved bleed out on my operating table. I’ve seen command ruin many good people. I’ve seen commanders so broken after the loss of their team that they refuse to go on. I’ve tried to talk them down, and failed. No one is perfect.” she paused, not bothering to stem the flow of her tears any longer. “But I know you haven’t given up. Not yet. There’s still fight in you, I can see it. You spend so much time trying to be strong and you don’t even realize how strong you are. You feel broken, I know. But when a bone breaks, during the healing process it’s so much stronger than it was before.”

“The fact that you’re here right now, still fighting when you feel like giving up. This is your healing process. This is you being stronger than you were. It won’t hurt this much forever. Just like any broken bone there will be days when it hurts just to remember it, when the rain makes it ache, but it will heal and you will be whole again.” she finished, lifting her hands to sweep the tears from under your lashes. You bit back a sob and she shook her head with a smile. “Let it go. Tear the wound open and let all the poison seep out.” This time you didn’t try to stifle your anguished cry, falling forward into Angela’s open arms. You cried into her chest like a child, wailing and screaming. She rocked you back and forth, stroking your hair and telling you that you were doing so well, that you were on your way to healing. And for the first time in months, you felt…better, crying yourself into an exhausted slumber. Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better.


End file.
